


Avatar Triptych

by Caesia390



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caesia390/pseuds/Caesia390
Summary: Part of the Arsenal, an old, defunct tribute to Switchknife. This was inspired by Switch's wartime fics. Poetry.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Kudos: 4





	Avatar Triptych

WHITE

Burning hot ceramic mug, and  
Coffee he can’t even taste,  
Heat cleansing all the flavour away,  
Until his mouth is  
Raw,  
Pierced and  
Throbbing.

Will and  
Valour,  
Words as empty as his  
Insides.

He tastes  
Acid.  
Brimstone.  
Acid.

Memories flash behind  
Dry,  
Weary,  
Crinkling eyelids -  
Indistinct like  
Sunspots,  
And he can’t remember what he’s doing this for.

He can’t remember whom he’s doing this for.

His hands are  
Cracked.  
His fingers are  
Thin and  
Brittle and  
Cold,  
So cold they tremble around-  
Potions Masters fingers  
Never tremble.

Never tremble.

Never gooseflesh  
After living  
In the  
Dungeons.

Never shudder.

Never –  
Never –  
Never shuddersobgasp or  
Crycrycry.

Death Eater  
Lost its meaning  
But  
Severus Snape  
Is  
Raped of feeling.

Nothing  
Feeling.

Traces the crackling outlines of  
Parchment  
Lips  
And  
What is he doing this for?

What is he doing this for?

White and  
Hot and  
Cold and  
Empty and

Where is it?

What was it?

When did it end?

XXX

BLACK

The boy tastes like bitter, melted chocolate.

His eyes are dark and only slightly sparking,  
A flash of  
Hate  
Amusement  
Contempt  
Eagerness,  
And the ring of green is a mockery.

A mockery.

He has a snake’s eyes  
And the fierce,  
Roaring mouth of a  
Lion.

He devours you.  
Again and again.

You consider,  
Each time,  
That he wants you to never return.  
Wants you to never again goad him into  
Frustration,  
Strike,  
Release.

And you tell yourself that  
That is why you provoke him.

His teeth are white  
As his tongue is  
Red,  
And his mind is  
Abyss abyss abyss,  
Searing maelstrom  
Of relentless  
Bitterness -  
Anger,  
Hatred,  
Pain.

Greater than your own.

Everything about him.

Greater than you.

You tell yourself that he is a tool,  
That he is a fool,  
That he has been spoiled by his  
Neglect.  
His self-pity has been  
Encouraged,  
Left to fester.

He has no right to be a child,  
Not with a war on his head,  
On his hands.

He is a means to an end.

You fuck him with his face down.

You don’t want to see if he is  
Crying,  
Wincing,  
Or  
Crying  
Laughing  
Using  
You.

XXX

LEAN AND HUNGRY LOOKS

If there were funerals,  
They would have been as insubstantial  
As  
Two shadows on the snow.

There would have been no hands on shoulders -  
Clenched teeth -  
Pale, chilled,  
Bloodless cheeks.

There would have been no tears.

There would have been no  
Grumbled off-colour remarks or  
Forgiving pats.  
No confessions,  
No apologies.

They weren’t the type of men  
To contain emotion to  
Appropriate times.

If there had been time for funerals,  
There would have been no  
Footprints in the snow,  
Slow and dark and  
Side by side.

They weren’t the type to  
Draw together  
When it was finally time.  
Let the walls fall;  
Let the boundaries weaken.

If there had been funerals.

If there had been time for  
Thought and change…

It wouldn’t have made any difference.

XXX


End file.
